

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

ChapTpSj Copyright No. 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 





































































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SUNSHINE LIBRARY. 


THE BLIND BROTHER. 

By Homer Greene $0.50 

THE CAPTAIN'S DOG. 

By Louis Enault 50 

DEAR LITTLE MARCHIONESS. 

The Story of a Child’s Faith and Love 50 

DICK IN THE DESERT. 

By James Otis 50 

THE GOLD THREAD. 

By Norman McLeod, D.D 50 

HOW TOMMY SAVED THE BARN. 

By lames Otis 50 

J. COLE. 

By Emma Gellibrand 50 

JESSICA’S FIRST PRAYER. 

By Hesba Stretton 50 

LADDIE. 

By the Author of “Miss Toosey’s Mission” 50 

LITTLE PETER. 

By Lucas Malet 50 

MASTER SUNSHINE. 

By Mrs. C. F. Fraser 50 

MISS TOOSEY’S MISSION. 

By the Author of “ Laddie” 50 

MUSICAL JOURNEY OF DOROTHY AND DELIA. 

By Bradley Gilman .50 

A SHORT CRUISE. 

By James Otis 50 

THE WRECK OF THE CIRCUS. 

By James Otis 50 


THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY, 

NEW YORK AND BOSTON. 









“ I'hanks to the timely Attention, Dick soon opened his Eyes.”— P age 48 


% 



Dick in the Desert 


BY 

9 

JAMES OTIS N 

AUTHOR OF “ HOW TOMMY SAVED THE BARN,” ETC. 

« 




New York : 46 East 14th Street 

THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY 

Boston : 100 Purchase Street 


2nd COPY, 
1898. 


TWO COPIES RECEIVED. 


^ ZJ/ N/ 



6702 




Copyright, 1893, 

By Thomas Y. Crowell & Company'. 



Typography by C. J. Peters & Son, Boston. 


Presswork by S. J. Parkhill & Co. 


Fok tlie lad to whom I have given the name of Dick 
Stevens this little story has been written, with the hope 
that he may enjoy the reading of it even as I did his 
modest manner of telling it. 


James Otis. 


CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Dick’s Daddy 1 

IT. A Lonely Vigil 17 

III. A Sand-Storm 34 

IV. At Antelope Spring 52 

V. Dick “Pulls Through” 69 


* 


DICK IK THE DESEET. 


CHAPTER I. 
dick’s daddy. 

ETWEE N Fox Peak and Smoke Creek 
Desert, on the western edge of the State 
of Nevada, is a beautiful valley, carpeted 
with bunch grass, which looks particu- 
larly bright and green to the venturesome traveller 
who has just crossed either of the two deserts lying 
toward the east. 

“Buffalo Meadows” the Indians named it, be- 
cause of the vast herds of American bison found 
there before the white men hunted simply for the 
sport of killing; but those who halt at the last 
watercourse prior to crossing the wide stretches 
of sand on the journey east, speak of it as “Com- 
fort Hollow.” 

To a travel-stained party who halted at the 




2 


DICK IN TEE DESERT. 


water-pool nearest the desert on a certain after- 
noon in September two years ago, this last name 
seemed particularly appropriate. 

They had come neither foi* gold nor the sport of 
hunting ; but were wearily retracing their steps, 
after having wandered and suffered among the 
foot-hills of the Sierras in a fruitless search for a 
home, on which they had been lured by unscrupu- 
lous speculators. 

Nearly two years previous Richard Stevens — 
“ Roving Dick” his acquaintances called him — had 
first crossed the vast plain of sand, with his wife, 
son, and daughter. 

His entire worldly possessions consisted of a 
small assortment of household goods packed in 
a stout, long-bodied wagon, covered with canvas 
stretched over five poles bent in a half-circle, and 
drawn by two decrepit horses. 

The journey had been a failure, so far as finding 
a home in the wilds was concerned, where the head 
of the family could live without much labor ; and 
now the homeless ones, decidedly the worse for 
wear, were returning to Willow Point, on the Lit- 
tle Humboldt River. 

The provisions had long since been exhausted; 
the wagon rudely repaired in many places; the 
cooking utensils were reduced to one pot and a 


DICK'S DADDY. 


3 


battered dipper ; the canvas covering was torn and 
decaying, and the horses presented a skeleton-like 
appearance. 

The family had suffered outwardly quite as 
much as the goods. Young Dick and his father 
wore clothing which had been patched and re- 
patched with anything Mrs. Stevens could push a 
needle through, until it would have been impos- 
sible to say what was the original material ; but to 
a boy thirteen years of age this seemed a matter 
of little consequence, while his father preferred 
such a costume rather than exert himself to tan 
deer-hides for one more serviceable. 

Mrs. Stevens and six-year-old Margie were in a 
less forlorn condition as to garments; but they also 
needed a new outfit sadly, and nearly every day 
young Dick told them confidentially that he would 
attend to the matter immediately after arriving at 
Willow Point, even if it became necessary for him 
to sell his rifle, the only article of value he owned. 

“Once across the desert, mother,” he said, as the 
sorry-looking team was drawn up by the side of 
the pool, and he began to unharness the horses 
while his father went in search of game for supper, 
“and then we shall be well on our way to the old 
home we had no business to leave.” 

“It is this portion of the journey that worries 


4 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


me most, Dick. You remember what a hard time 
we had when the animals were in good condition ; 
and now that they are hardly able to drag their 
own bones along, the danger is great.” 

a No more than when we crossed the river; and 
even though father did feel afraid there, we got 
along all right,” was the cheerful reply. “ There 
should be plenty of game here, and after a square 
feed things won’t look so bad.” 

Mrs. Stevens turned wearily away to make prep- 
arations for the evening meal in case the hunter 
should bring in a supply of meat, but made no 
reply. She understood why young Dick spoke 
encouragingly, and felt proud that the boy dis- 
played so much tenderness for her ; yet the fact 
could not be disguised that dangers beset the little 
party on every hand. 

It required but a small amount of labor in order 
to make ready for the night. 

Tired as the horses were, there was no likelihood 
of their straying very far; and Dick simply re- 
moved the harness, allowing the animals to roam 
at will. The wagon served as a camp; and the 
most arduous task was that of gathering materials 
with which to make a fire, when nothing larger 
than a bush could be seen on either hand. 

Then there was no more to be done save await 


DICK'S DADDY. 


5 


the return of the hunter, and it was not until the 
shadows began to lengthen into the gloom of night 
that young Dick felt seriously alarmed. 

He knew his father would not have gone very 
far from the camp in search of game, because he 
was on foot, and there was no more promising 
place for sport than within the radius of a mile 
from where they had halted. Besides, when hunt- 
ing took the form of labor which must be per- 
formed, Richard Stevens was not one who would 
continue it long, unless he was remarkably hungry. 

Young Dick’s mother gave words to her anxiety 
several times ; but the boy argued with her that no 
harm could have befallen the absent one in that 
vicinity, and for a time her fears were allayed. 

When another hour passed, however, and noth- 
ing was heard from his father, even Dick lost cour- 
age, and believed that the culminating point in 
their troubles had been reached. 

His mother and Margie had entered the wagon 
when night was fully come, knowing they must go 
supperless to bed unless the hunter returned ; and 
to Dick the thought that these two whom he loved 
so dearly were hungry, brought him almost as much 
sorrow as the unaccountable absence of his father. 

He believed, however, that it was his duty to 
appear unconcerned, as if confident his father’s 


6 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


prolonged absence did not betoken danger. He 
trudged to and fro in the immediate vicinity of the 
vehicle, at times whistling cheerily to show there 
was no trouble on his mind ; and again, when it 
was impossible to continue the melody because of 
the sorrow in his heart, repeated to his mother 
that nothing serious could have befallen the absent 
one, that probably he had unconsciously wandered 
a long distance from the camp on the trail of game. 

“ It don’t stand to reason he will try to make 
his way now it is dark, mother dear ; but within 
an hour or two after sunrise he’ll be here, and the 
breakfast we shall then have will make up for the 
loss of supper.” 

Mrs. Stevens made no reply; and listening a 
moment, Dick heard the sound of suppressed sobs. 

His mother was in distress, and he could do no 
more toward comforting her than repeat what he 
did not absolutely believe. 

He knew full well that unless some accident had 
befallen him, his father would have returned before 
dark; that he would not have allowed himself to 
be led so far away from the camping-place that he 
could not readily return ; and the boy’s sorrow was 
all the greater because it was impossible to console 
his mother. 

Clambering into the wagon, he put his arms 


DICK'S DADDY. 


7 


around her neck, pressing his cheek close against 
hers, and during what seemed a very long while 
the two remained silent, not daring to give words 
to their fears. 

Then Dick bethought himself of a plan which 
offered some slight degree of hope, and starting up 
suddenly, said, — 

“I ought to have done it before, an’ it ain’t too 
late now.” 

“Done what, Dick dear?” 

“ Gone out in the direction father took, and fired 
the rifle two or three times. It may be he has lost 
his bearings, and the report of the gun would be 
enough to let him know where we are.” 

“But you must not go now that it is dark, my 
boy. Suppose you should lose your way? Then 
what would become of Margie and me?” 

“There’s no danger of that, mother. I’ve been 
in the woods often enough to be able to takp care 
of myself, surely.” 

“Your father would have said the same thing 
when he set out; but yet we know some accident 
must have befallen him.” 

“Let me go only a little way, mother.” 

“Of what avail would that be, my son? If the 
purpose is to discharge your rifle, hoping father 
may hear the report, why not do it here?” 


8 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


“I will, if you won’t let me go farther.” 

“I can’t, Dick dear. I might be braver under 
other circumstances, but now the thought of your 
leaving me is more than I can bear.” 

“I won’t go so far but that I can see the 
wagon,” Dick said, kissing his mother and little 
Margie much as though bidding them good-by; 
and a few moments later the. report of his rifle 
almost startled the occupants of the wagon. 

During the next hour Dick discharged his weapon 
at least twelve times, but there was no reply of 
whatsoever nature. 

If his father was alive and within hearing, he was 
too badly disabled to give token of his whereabouts. 

The supply of cartridges was not so large that 
very many could be used without making a serious 
inroad upon the store; and realizing the useless- 
ness of further efforts in this direction, Dick went 
back to the wagon. 

Margie had fallen asleep, her head pillowed in 
her mother’s lap; and Mrs. Stevens, unwilling to 
disturb the child, was taking such rest as was pos- 
sible while she leaned against the canvas covering 
of the wagon. 

Dick seated himself beside her. It was not ne- 
cessary he should speak of his failure, for she knew 
that already. 


DICK'S DADDY. 


9 


He had thought it his duty to join her for a few 
moments, and then go outside again to act the part 
of sentinel, although such labor could be of little 
avail ; but before he had been nestling by her side 
five minutes his eyes were closed in slumber ; and 
the mother, her mind reaching out to the absent 
father, spent the hours of the night in wakefulness, 
watching over her children. 

The sun had risen before Dick’s eyes were opened ; 
and springing to his feet quickly, ashamed of hav- 
ing slept while his mother kept guard, he said, — 

“ I didn’t mean to hang on here like a baby while 
you were awake, mother, but my eyes shut before 
I knew it.” 

“ It is well you rested, my son. Nothing could 
, have been done had you remained awake.” 

“ Perhaps not ; but I should have felt better, be- 
cause if anything has happened to father, though I 
don’t say it can be possible, I’m the one who must 
take care of you and Margie.” 

Mrs. Stevens kissed the boy, not daring to trust 
herself to speak ; and he hurried out, for there was 
before him a full day’s work, if he would do that 
which he had decided upon in his mind the evening 
previous. 

There was no reasonable hope any one would 
come that way for many days — perhaps months. 


10 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


They were alone, and whatever was done must 
be accomplished by this thirteen-year-old boy. 

“I’m going after something for breakfast, mother, 
and then count on trying to follow father’s trail,” 
Dick said, after looking around in every direction, 
even though he knew there was no possibility of 
seeing any human being. 

“ There is no reason why you should spend the 
time in trying to get food for us, Dick dear. Mar- 
gie and I can get on very well without breakfast, 
and you will have the more time to hunt for your 
father ; but remember, my boy, that you are the 
only one we can depend upon now, and without you 
we might remain here until we starved.” 

“ I’ll take good care not to go so far from the 
wagon but that I can find my way back ; for surely 
I’ll be able to follow on my own trail, if there’s no 
other. Hadn’t I better do a little hunting first?” 

“ Not unless you are very, very hungry, Dick. 
Food would choke me just now, and there is enough 
of the bread we baked yesterday morning to give 
you and Margie an apology for a breakfast.” 

“ I can get along without ; you shall eat my 
share. Now, don’t worry if I’m not back until near 
sunset. The horses are close at hand, and you may 
be certain they won’t stray while the feed is plenti- 
ful. Stay in the wagon, even though there is noth- 


DICK'S DADDY. 


11 


ing to harm you if you walk around. W e must be 
careful that no more trouble comes upon us; so 
keep under cover, mother dear, and I’ll be here 
again before night comes.” 

Dick was not as confident he could follow his 
father’s trail as he would have it appear to his 
mother ; but he decided upon the direction in whi(3h 
he would search, and set bravely out heading due 
west, knowing he could hold such a course by aid 
of the sun’s position, as his father had often ex- 
plained to him. 

Dick was hungry, but scorned to let his mother 
know it, and tried to dull the edge of his appetite 
by chewing twigs and blades of grass. 

After walking rapidly ten iftinutes, more careful 
as to direction than he ever had been, because of the 
responsibility that rested upon him, he stopped and 
shouted his father’s name ; then listened, hoping to 
hear a reply. 

Save for the hum of insect life, no sound came 
to his anxious ears. 

Once more he pressed forward, and again shouted, 
but without avail. 

He continued on until, seeing the trail made by 
the wagon when they had come in from the stream, 
he knew he was very near to the border of the 
valley. 


12 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


Surely liis father would not have gone outside, 
because he had said before they arrived that only 
in the Buffalo Meadows were they likely to find 
game. 

Then Dick turned, pushing on in a northerly 
direction at right angles with the course he had 
just been pursuing, and halting at five-minute in- 
tervals to shout. 

His anxiety and hunger increased equally as the 
day grew older. Try as he might, he could not 
keep the tears from over-running his eyelids. 

The sun was sinking toward the west before he 
heard aught of human voice save his own ; and then 
a cry of joy and relief burst from his lips as he 
heard faintly in the distance his own name spoken. 

“ I’m coming ! I’m coming ! ” he cried at the 
full strength of his lungs, as he dashed forward, 
•exultant in the thought that his father was alive, 
for he had begun to believe that he would never 
see him again in this world. 

Mr. Stevens continued to call out now and then 
to guide the boy on the way, and as he drew nearer 
Dick understood from the quavering tones that his 
father was in agony. 

“I’m coming, daddy ! I’m coming! ” he shouted 
yet louder, as if believing it was necessary to ani- 
mate the sufferer, for he now knew that some pain- 


DICK'S DADDY. 


13 


ful accident had befallen his father ; and when he 
finally ended the search his heart literally ceased 
beating because of his terror and dismay. 

Dick believed he had anticipated the worst, but 
yet was unprepared for that which he saw. 

Lying amid the blood-stained sage-grass, his shirt 
stripped into bandages to tie up a grievously injured 
limb, lay “ Roving Dick,” his face pallid, his lips 
bloodless, and his general appearance that of one 
whom death has nearly overtaken. 

“ Daddy! daddy! ” Dick cried piteously, and then 
he understood that consciousness had deserted the 
wounded man. 

He had retained possession of his faculties until 
aid was near at hand, and then the long strain of 
physical and mental agony had brought about a 
collapse. 

Dick raised his father’s head tenderly, imploring 
him to speak — to tell him what should be done; 
but the injured man remained silent as if death had 
interposed to give him relief. 

Looking about scrutinizingly, as those born and 
bred on the frontier learn to do early in life, Dick 
saw his father’s rifle twenty feet or more away, 
and between it and him a trail of blood through 
the sage-brush, then a sinister, crimson blotch on 
the sand. 


14 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


Mr. Stevens’s right leg was the injured member, 
and it had been wrapped so tightly with the impro- 
vised bandages that the boy could form no idea as 
to the extent of the wound ; but he knew it must 
indeed be serious to overcome so thoroughly one 
who, though indolent by nature, had undergone 
much more severe suffering than he could have 
known since the time of leaving the wagon to 
search for game. 

It seemed to Dick as if more than ten minutes 
elapsed before his father spoke, and then it was to 
ask for water. 

He might as well have begged for gold, so far as 
Dick’s ability to gratify the desire was concerned. 

“ To get any, daddy, I may have to go way back 
to the wagon, for I haven’t come upon a single 
watercourse since leaving camp this morning.” 

“ Your mother and Margie ? ” 

“I left them at the camp. How did you get 
here?” 

“ It was just before nightfall. I had been stalk- 
ing an antelope; was crawling on the ground drag- 
ging my rifle, when the hammer must have caught 
amid the sage-brush ; the weapon was discharged, 
and the bone of my leg appears to be shattered.” 

“ Poor, poor daddy ! ” and Dick kissed him on 
the forehead. 


DICK'S DADDY. 


15 


“ We must be four miles from the camp/’ Mr. 
Stevens said, speaking with difficulty because of 
his parched and swollen tongue. 

“ I should say so ; but I went toward the west, 
and after travelling until noon struck across this 
way, so have no idea of the distance.” 

“ I shall die for lack of water, Dick, even though 
the wound does not kill me.” 

“How shall I get it, daddy?” the boy cried 
piteously. “I can’t leave you here alone, and I 
don’t believe there’s a drop nearer than where we 
are camped.” 

“You must leave me, Dick; for you can do no 
good while staying here, and the thought that help 
is coming, even though there may be many hours 
to wait, will give me strength. Can you find your 
way to the camp and back after nightfall?” 

“I’ll do it somehow, daddy! I’ll do it!” 

“ Then set out at once, and bring one of the 
horses back with you. I should be able to ride four 
miles, or even twice that distance, since it is to 
save my life.” 

“ But you’ll keep up a brave heart, daddy dear, 
won’t you ? Don’t think you are going to die; but 
remember that mother and I, and even little 
Margie, will do all we can to pull you through.” 

“I know it, Dick, I know it. You are a good 


16 


DICK IN THE DESERT . 


lad — far oetter than I have been father; and if 
it should chance that when you come back I’ve 
gone from this world, remember that you are the 
only one to whom the mother and baby can look 
for protection.” 

“You know I’d always take care of them; but 
I am going to save you, daddy dear. People have 
gotten over worse wounds than this, and once you 
are at the camp we will stay in Buffalo Meadows 
till it is possible for you to ride. I’ll look out for 
the whole outfit, and from this on you sha’n’t have 
a trouble, except because of the wound.” 

“ Give me your hand, my boy, and now go ; 
for strong as may be my will, I can’t stand the loss 
of much more blood. God bless you, Dick, and 
remember that I always loved you, even though 
I never provided for you as a father should have 
done.” 

Dick hastily cleared the mist from his eyes, and 
without speaking darted forward in the direction 
where he believed the wagon would be found, break- 
ing the sage-brush as he ran in order that he might 
make plain the trail over which he must return. 


A LONELY VIGIL. 


17 


CHAPTER II. 

A LONELY VIGIL. 

T was not yet dark when Dick arrived 
within sight of the wagon, and shouted 
cheerily that those who were so anx- 
iously awaiting his coming might know 
he had been fortunate in the search. 

As soon as his voice rang out, startlingly loud 
because of the almost oppressive stillness, Mrs. 
Stevens appeared from beneath the flap of the can- 
vas covering, and an expression of most intense 
disappointment passed over her face as she saw 
that Dick was alone. 

“It’s all right, mother!” he cried, quickening 
his pace that she might the sooner be relieved from 
her suspense. “It’s all right!,” 

“ Did you find your father ?” 

“Yes; an’ I’ve come back for one of the horses. 
He’s been hurt, an’ can’t walk.” 

“Thank God he is alive!” she cried, and then 
for the first time since the previous evening she 
gave way to tears. 




18 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


Dick did all he could toward comforting her 
without making any delay in setting out on the 
return journey. 

While he filled the canteen with fresh water he 
repeated what his father had bidden him to say; 
and when his mother asked concerning the wound, 
he spoke as if he did not consider it serious. 

“ Of course it’s bad, for he thinks one of the 
bones has been splintered but I don’t see why 
he shouldn’t come ’round all right after a spell. 
We’ve known of people who had worse hurts and 
yet got well.” 

“ But they were where at least something of 
what might be needed could be procured, while we 
are here in the desert.” 

“ Not quite so bad as that, mother dear. We 
have water, and I should be able to get food in 
plenty. After I’ve supplied the camp, I’m goin’ on 
foot to Antelope Spring, where we can buy what- 
ever daddy may need.” 

“ Across the desert alone ! ” 

“ A boy like me ought to be able to do it, and ” — 

“ Your father hasn’t a penny, Dick dear.” 

“ I know that, mother ; but I’ll sell my rifle be- 
fore he shall suffer for anything. Now don’t worry, 
and keep up a good heart till I come back.” 

“ Can’t I be of some assistance if I go too ? ” 


A LONELY VIGIL. 


19 


“ You’d better stay here with Margie. Father 
and I can manage it alone, I reckon.” 

Then Dick set about catching one of the 
horses; and as he rode the sorry-looking steed up 
to the wagon, his mother gave him such articles 
from her scanty store as the wounded man might 
need. 

“ You're a good boy, Dick,” she said, as he 
stooped over to kiss her ; “ and some day you shall 
have your reward.” 

“ I’ 11 get it now, mother, if I see you looking a 
little more jolly; and indeed things ain’t quite so 
bad as they seem, for I can pull our little gang 
through in great shape, though I’m afraid after it’s 
been done I sha’n’t be able to get you and Margie 
the new outfit I promised.” 

“ We should be so thankful your father is alive 
as not to realize that we need anything else.” 

“ But you do, just the same, whether you realize 
it or not; an’ I’ll attend to everything if I have 
time enough. Don’t trouble yourself if we’re not 
back much before morning, for I reckon daddy 
can’t stand it to ride faster than a walk.” 

Then, without daring to stop longer, lest he 
should betray some sign of weakness, Dick rode 
away, waving his hand to Margie, who was look- 
ing out of the rear end of the wagon, but giving 


20 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


vent to a sigli which, was almost a sob when they 
could no longer see him. 

Young though he was, Dick understood full well 
all the dangers which menaced. Although he had 
spoken so confidently of being able to “pull the 
gang through,” he knew what perils were before 
them during the journey across the desert ; and it 
must be made within a reasonably short time, 
otherwise they might be overtaken by the winter 
storms before arriving at their old home. 

The beast he rode, worn by long travelling and 
scanty fare, could not be forced to a rapid pace ; 
and when night came Dick was hardly more than 
two miles from the wagon. 

He could have walked twice the distance in that 
time; but the delay was unavoidable, since only on 
the horse’s back could his father be brought into 
camp. 

Wheii it was so dark that he could not see the 
broken sage-brush which marked the trail, it was 
necessary he should dismount, and proceed even at 
a slower pace ; but he continued to press forward 
steadily, even though slowly, until, when it seemed 
to him that the night was well-nigh spent, he heard 
a sound as of moaning a short distance in advance. 

“I’ve come at last, daddy. It’s been a terrible 
long while, I know; but it was the best I could” — 


A LONELY VIGIL. 


21 


He ceased speaking very suddenly as he stood 
by the side of the sufferer, whom he could dimly 
see by the faint light of the stars. 

From the broken and uprooted sage-brush around 
him, it was evident the wounded man had, most 
likely while . in a delirium of fever, attempted to 
drag himself on in the direction of the camp, and 
had ceased such poor efforts only when completely 
exhausted. 

He was lying on his back, looking straight up at 
the sky as he alternately moaned and talked at 
random, with now and then a mirthless laugh 
which frightened the boy. 

“ Don’t, daddy, don’t ! ” he begged, as he raised 
the sufferer’s head. “ See, it’s Dick come back; 
and now you can ride into camp ! ” 

“ Mother is dying of thirst, and I’m — see that 
stream ! Come, boys, we’ll take a header into it — 
I’m on fire — fire ! ” 

Frightened though he was, Dick knew water 
was the one thing his father most needed ; and lay- 
ing the poor head gently back on the sand, he took 
the canteen from a bag which had served instead of 
a saddle. 

“ Drink this, daddy, and you’ll feel better,” he 
said coaxingly, much as if speaking to a child. 

The wounded man seized the tin vessel eagerly, 


22 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


and it required all Dick’s strength to prevent him 
from draining it at once. 

“ I’m afraid to give you more now, my poor old 
man ; but wait, like a dear, and I’ll let you take 
it again when you’re on the horse.” 

Not until after a violent struggle, which fright- 
ened Dick because it seemed almost as if he was 
raising his hand against his father, did he regain 
possession of the canteen, and then a full half of 
the contents had been consumed. 

When his thirst was in a measure quenched, Mr. 
Stevens lay quietly on the sand, save now and then 
as he moaned in unconscious agony, heeding not 
the boy’s pleading words. 

“ Try to help yourself a bit, daddy,” he urged. 
“ If you’ll stand on one foot I can manage to lift 
you onto the horse’s back.” 

Again and again did Dick try by words to per- 
suade his father to do as he desired, and then he 
realized how useless were his efforts. 

He had heard of this delirium which often fol- 
lows neglect of gun-shot wounds, but had no idea 
how he should set about checking it. 

After understanding that words were useless, 
and knowing full well he could not lift unaided 
such a weight onto the horse’s back, he crouched 
by his father’s side in helpless grief. 


A LONELY VIGIL. 


23 


Never before bad he known what it was to be 
afraid, however far he might be from others of his 
kind ; but now, as he listened to the meaningless 
words, or the piteous moans, terror took possession 
of him, and the soft sighing of the gentle wind 
sounded in his ears like a menace. 

The horse strayed here and there seeking food, 
but he gave no heed. 

Such garments as his mother had given him, 
Dick spread over the sufferer ; and that done there 
was nothing for him save to wait. 

It seemed to the anxious boy as if the night 
would never end. Now and then he rose to his 
feet, scanning the eastern sky in the hope of seeing 
some signs of coming dawn; but the light of the 
stars had not faded, and he knew the morning was 
yet far away. 

Finally, when it seemed to him as if he could 
no longer remain idle listening to a strong man’s 
childish prattle, the eastern heavens were lighted 
by a dull glow, which increased steadily until he 
could see the horse feeding on the dry bunch-grass 
an hundred yards away, and his long vigil was 
nearly at an end. 

His father called for water from time to time, 
and Dick had given him to drink from the canteen 
till no more than a cupful remained. 


24 


DICK IX THE DESERT. 


Now lie asked again, but in a voice which 
sounded more familiar ; and a great hope sprang up 
in the boy’s heart as he said, — 

“ There’s only a little left, you poor old man, 
and we can’t get more this side the camp. Shall 
I give it to you now?” 

“ Let me moisten my lips, Dick dear. They are 
parched, and my tongue is swollen until it seems 
ready to burst.” 

Dick handed him the canteen ; and his father 
drank sparingly, in marked contrast to his greedy 
swallowing of a few moments previous. 

“ It tastes sweet, my boy ; and when we are at 
the camp I’ll need only to look at the brook in 
order to get relief. Are you soon going for the 
horse ? ” 

I went, an’ have got back, daddy dear. You’ve 
been talking mighty queer — on account of the 
wound, I suppose.” 

“How long have you been with me, child?” 

“I must have got here before midnight, and the 
morning is just coming now.” 

“You’re a good boy, Dick.” 

“That’s what mother said before I left, and be- 
tween the two of you I’m afraid you’ll make me 
out way beyond what I deserve. We must get 
back as soon as we can, you poor old man ; for 


A LONELY VIGIL. 


25 


she’ll be crying her eyes sore with thinking we’ve 
both knocked under. Will we have a try at get- 
ting on horseback ? ” 

“Yes; and I reckon it can be done. Lead the 
beast up here, and then help me on my feet — I’ve 
grown as weak as a baby, Dick.” 

“ And I don’t wonder at it. According to the 
looks of this sage-brush you must have lost half of 
all the blood you had at this time yesterday.” 

Now that his father was conscious once more, 
all Dick’s reasonless terror fled, and again he was 
the manly fellow he had always shown himself 
to be. 

The horse was led to Mr. Stevens’s side ; and Dick 
raised the nearly powerless body until, at the ex- 
pense of most severe pain, but without sign of it 
by even so much as a groan, his father stood on the 
uninjured limb. 

Fortunately the horse was too weary to make 
much protest at what followed ; with a restive steed 
it would have been impossible for the boy to half 
lift, half push his father up until he was seated on 
the bag that served as saddle. 

“ How is it now, you poor old man ? Can you 
hold on there a couple of hours ? ” 

“ I must, my boy ; and if it so be I show signs 
of losing my reason again, you must contrive to 


26 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


lash me here, for unless this wound is attended to in 
better shape than it is just now, I’ll go under.” 

“ For mother’s sake you must keep a good grip 
on yourself. It’ll come tough, I know ; but once 
we’re in camp you shall live on the fat of the 
land.” 

Dick took up his father’s rifle, — his own he had 
left in the wagon when he went after the horse, — 
and, leading the animal by the bridle, marched on, 
glancing back every few seconds to learn how the 
rider was faring. 

Although he struggled to repress any evidence 
of pain, Mr. Stevens could not prevent the agony 
from being apparent on his face ; and Dick, who 
had neither eaten nor slept during the past twenty- 
four hours, did all a boy could have done to cheer 
the sufferer, without thought of his own necessities. 

“ We’ll soon be in camp, daddy, when you’re to 
have everything you need,” he said from time to 
time; and then, fancying this was not sufficient 
encouragement, he finally added, “you know I’m 
going over to Antelope Spring to get some doctor’s 
stuff as soon as I’ve found game enough to keep 
the camp supplied while I’m away.” 

“ Antelope Spring ! ” Mr. Stevens cried, aroused 
from his suffering for an instant by the bold asser- 
tion. “ You shall never do it, Dick, not if I had 


A LONELY VIGIL. 


27 


twenty wounds! It’s as much as a man’s life is 
worth to cross the desert on foot, and these horses 
of ours are worse than none at all.” 

“ By the time we’ve been in camp a couple of 
weeks where the feed is good, they’ll pick up in 
great shape, and be fit to haul the old wagon home. 
Won’t it be prime to see the town once more ? And 
there’ll be no more hunting ’round for a place 
where we can get a livin’ easy, eh, daddy ? ” 

“ No, Dickey ; once we’re there we’ll stay, and 
I’m going to turn over a new leaf if my life is 
spared. I’ll do more work and less loafing. But 
you’re not to cross the desert alone, my boy.” 

“ It may be travellers will come our way, an’ I 
can go with them,” Dick replied, taking good care 
not to make any promises ; for he understood from 
what his mother had said that it would be abso- 
lutely necessary that aid should be had from the 
nearest settlement. 

Fortunately, as it then seemed to the boy, the 
pain which his father was enduring prevented him 
from dwelling upon the subject; and as Dick 
trudged on, trying to force the horse into a more 
rapid gait, he turned over in his mind all he had 
heard regarding such a journey. 

There were many times when it seemed certain 
Mr. Stevens must succumb to the suffering caused 


28 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


by the wound ; but he contrived to “ keep a good 
grip ” on himself, as Dick had suggested, and after 
what seemed the longest .and most painful journey 
the boy had ever experienced, the two came upon 
landmarks which told they were nearing the en- 
campment. 

His father was ghastly pale. The big drops of 
sweat on his forehead told of intense pain ; and, in 
order to revive his courage yet a little longer, Dick 
shouted loudly to warn the dear ones who were 
waiting. 

“ They’ll soon come running to meet us ; and you 
must put on a bold front, daddy, else mother will 
think you’re near dead. Hold hard a little while 
longer, and then we’ll have you in the wagon, where 
all hands of us can doctor you in great shape.” 

It is more than probable that, had he been alone, 
with no one to cheer him, Mr. Stevens might never 
have been able to endure the agony which must 
have been his. Thanks to Dick’s cheering words, 
however, he not only kept his seat, but remained 
conscious until his wife and son lifted him from 
the horse to the bed hastily prepared in the ve- 
hicle. 

Then nature asserted herself; and he speedily 
sank into unconsciousness accompanied by delir- 
ium, as when Dick had watched by his side. 


A LONELY VIGIL. 


29 


“ He was just that way all night, and it fright- 
ened me, mother. What can we do for him ? ” 

“ I don’t know, Dick dear ; indeed I don’t. Un- 
less he can have proper attention death must soon 
come, and I am ignorant of such nursing as he 
needs. If we were only where we could call in a 
doctor ! ” 

“ Wouldn’t it do almost as well if we had medi- 
cine for him ? ” 

“ Perhaps so ; but if we could get such things it 
would also be possible to at least find out what we 
should do.” 

“ The horses wouldn’t pull us across the desert 
until after they’ve rested a spell,” Dick said half to 
himself. 

“ And even if they could, we must have food.” 

“ See here, mother ; you fix up daddy’s leg the 
best you know how, and I’ll look around for some- 
thing that’ll fill the pot. There are rabbits here 
in plenty, though it’s mighty hard luck when you 
have to waste a cartridge on each one. I’ll have 
enough in the way of meat by the time you’ve 
washed the wound. I’ve heard the poor old man 
himself say that plenty of cool water was needed 
on a bullet-hole.” 

Mrs. Stevens could not be hopeful under the cir- 
cumstances, for she knew better than did Dick how 


30 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


slight was the chance that the injured man could 
live where it was impossible to care properly for 
the wound ; but she would not deprive the boy of 
hope, and turned to do as he suggested. 

Although weary and footsore, Dick did not spend 
many moments in camp. 

He waited only long enough to get his rifle and 
ammunition, and then trudged off; for meat must 
be had, even at the expense of cartridges, both for 
the wounded man and the remainder of the family. 

An hour later Dick returned with two rabbits ; 
and when these had been made ready for cooking, 
he clambered into the wagon to see his father. 

The invalid looked more comfortable, even though 
nothing had been done for his relief save to cleanse 
the wound, and dress it in such fashion as was pos- 
sible; but he was still in the delirium, and after 
kissing the pale forehead, Dick went to where his 
mother was making ready for the long-delayed meal. 

“ I don’t reckon there’s a bit of anything to eat, 
mother ? ” 

“ I shall soon have these rabbits cooked.” 

“ But I must be off after larger game, and don’t 
want to wait till dinner is ready.” 

“ You need the food, Dickey, and there is only 
a tiny bit of bread.” 

“Give me that, mother dear. It will stop the 


A LONELY VIGIL. 


31 


hole in my stomach for a spell, and when I come 
back there’ll be plenty of time to eat meat.” 

Had the circumstances been one whit less grave, 
Mrs. Stevens would not have consented to his set- 
ting out before having eaten a hearty meal; but 
she knew that more meat would soon be needed, 
since they had no other food, and two rabbits would 
hardly provide the famishing ones with enough to 
stay their hunger for the time being. 

The piece of bread, baked the day previous from 
the last of their store of flour, was brought out; and, 
munching it slowly that it might seem to be more, 
Hick started off again. 

Not until nearly nightfall did he return ; but he 
had with him such portion of a deer’s carcass as he 
could drag, and all fear of starvation was banished 
from camp. 

The wounded man was resting more comfortably, 
if such term can be applied properly when one is 
suffering severest pain ; and after hanging the meat 
beneath the wagon, Dick questioned his mother as 
to what might be done if they were within reach of 
a physician. 

“If we could see one, Dickey, your father’s life 
might be saved, for such" a wound should not be 
exceedingly dangerous. If I knew how to treat it, 
and had the proper washes, we ought to nurse him 


32 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


back to life; but as it is, I haven’t even that which 
would check the fever.” 

“If you could talk to a doctor would it be all 
right?” 

“I believe so, Dickey.” 

“ Would the medecine you want cost very much ? ” 

“ It is the same to us whether the price be much 
or little, since we haven’t the opportunity to get 
what is needed, nor the money with which to pay 
for it if a shop were near at hand.” 

Dick ceased his questioning, and set about per- 
forming such work around the camp as might well 
have been left undone until the next day. 

A generous supply of broiled venison was made 
ready, and the boy ate heartily ; after which he went 
into the wagon, telling his mother he would play 
the part of nurse until dark, when she could take 
his place. 

Once in the vehicle, partially screened from view, 
Dick, after much search for the bit of a lead-pencil 
his father owned, wrote on a piece of brown paper 
that had contained the last ten pounds of flour Mr. 
Stevens had purchased, the following words, — 

Dear Mother, — I know you won’t let me go to Antelope 
Spring if I tell you about what I’m minded to do, so I shall slip 
off the first thing in the morning. I’ll take my rifle with me, 
and by selling it, get what stuff daddy needs. I can talk with a 


A LONELY VIGIL. 


38 


doctor too ; and when I come back we’ll fix the poor old man up 
in great shape. 

Don’t worry about me, for I can get across without any bother. 
I’m going to take the canteen and some slices of meat, so I sha’n’t 
be hungry or thirsty. I count on being back in three days ; but 
if I’m gone five you mustn’t think anything has gone wrong, for 
it may be a longer trip than I’m reckonin’ on. 

I love you, and daddy, and Margie mighty well ; and this foot- 
ing it across the desert ain’t half as dangerous as you think for. 

Your son, 

Dickey. 


When this had been done, he kissed his father 
twice, smoothed the hair back from the pale, damp 
forehead, and whispered, — 

“ I’m going so’s you’ll get well, my poor old man ; 
and you mustn’t make any kick, ’cause it’s got to 
be done.” 

Then he came out as if tired of playing the 
nurse, and proposed that he sleep under the wagon 
that night. 

“ With all hands inside, daddy would be crowded; 
and I’m as well off out-of-doors. Kiss me, mother, 
for I’m miorhtv tired.” 


34 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


CHAPTER III. 

A SAND-STORM. 

N this proposal to retire thus early Mrs. 
Stevens saw nothing to excite her sus- 
picions regarding Dick’s real intentions. 
He had worked for thirty-six hours 
almost incessantly; and it would not be strange if 
this unusual exertion, together with the weariness 
caused by excitement, had brought him to the verge 
of exhaustion. 

His mother would have insisted upon bringing 
out one of the well-worn blankets, but that Dick 
was decidedly opposed to taking anything from the 
wagon which might in the slightest degree con- 
tribute to his father’s comfort. 

“ I’m very well off on the bare ground, and with 
the wagon to shelter me from the dew I couldn’t 
be better fixed. Our poor old man needs all we’ve 
got, mother; and you may be sure I won’t lay 
awake thinking of the feather-beds we had at 
Willow Point, ’cause it’s about as much as I can 
do to keep my eyes open.” 




A SAND-STORM. 


85 


“ You are a dear good boy, and God will reward 
you. In addition to saving your father’s life, for 
that is what you’ve done this day, you have light- 
ened my burden until it would be wicked to repine.” 

“ I’ll risk your ever doing anything very wicked, 
mother ; and if the time comes when it seems to 
you as though I don’t do exactly as you want me 
to, just remember all you’ve said about my being 
a good boy, an’ let it be a stand-off, will you?” 

“ I am certain you will never do anything to 
cause me sorrow, Dickey, dear. Don’t get up until 
you have been thoroughly rested; for now that 
we have food in camp, I can do all that will be 
necessary.” 

Then Dick’s mother kissed him again, not leav- 
ing him until he had stretched out at full length 
under the wagon; and so tired was the boy that 
Mrs. Stevens had hardly got back to take up her 
duties as nurse when his loud breathing told that 
he was asleep. 

When Dick awakened it was still dark; but he 
believed, because he no longer felt extremely weary, 
that the night was nearly spent ; and for the success 
of his plan it was of the utmost importance he 
should set out before his mother was astir. 

It was his purpose to travel on foot to Antelope 
Spring, a distance in an air-line of about forty-five 


36 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


miles, fifteen of which would be across the upper 
portion of Smoke Creek Desert. 

In this waste of sand lay all the danger of the 
undertaking. The number of miles to be travelled 
troubled him but little, for more than once had he 
walked nearly as far in a single day while hunting ; 
and he proposed to spend thirty-six hours on each 
stage of the journey. 

Creeping cautiously, out from under the wagon, 
he fastened his letter to the flap of the canvas cov- 
ering in such a manner that his mother could not 
fail to see it when she first came out ; and then he 
wrapped in leaves several slices of broiled venison, 
after which he stowed them in his pocket. 

The canteen was filled at a spring near-by. 

He saw to it that his ammunition belt contained 
no more than half a dozen cartridges, and then took 
up his rifle, handling it almost lovingly ; for this, 
his only valuable possession, he intended to part 
with in order to secure what might be necessary 
for his father’s relief and comfort. 

The weapon was slung over his back where it 
would not impede his movements ; and with a single 
glance backward he set out with a long, swinging 
stride such as he knew by experience he could main- 
tain for many hours. 

It was still dark when he had crossed the fertile 


A SAND-STORM. 


37 


meadows, and arrived at the border of an appar- 
ently limitless expanse of yellow sand. 

Here it would not be possible to maintain the 
pace at which he had started, because of the loose 
sand in which his feet sank to the depth of an inch 
at each step. 

Having set out at such an early hour, this boy, 
who was perilling his life in the hope of aiding his 
father, believed the more dangerous portion of the 
journey might be accomplished before the heat of 
the day should be the most severe. 

When the sun rose Dick had travelled, as nearly 
as he could estimate, over three miles of desert; 
and his courage increased with the knowledge that 
one-fifth of the distance across the sands had already 
been traversed. 

At the end of the next hour he said to himself 
that he must be nearly midway on the road of 
sand ; and although the labor of walking was 
most severe, his heart was very light. 

“ Once across, I’ll push on as fast as any fellow 
can walk,” he said aloud, as if the sound of his 
own voice gave him cheer. “ By making an extra 
effort I ought to be in Antelope Spring before mid- 
night, and have plenty of time to sleep between 
now and morning. Half a day there to sell the 
rifle, an' buy what is needed, an’ by sunset I 


38 


DICE IN THE DESERT. 


should be at the edge of the desert again, ready 
to make this part of the tramp after dark.” 

He walked quickly, and like one who intends to 
go but a short distance. 

The forty-five-mile tramp seemed to him but a 
trifle as compared with what was to be gained by 
the making of it. 

He thought of his mother as she read the note 
he had left on the flap of the wagon-covering, and 
wondered if she looked upon his departure as an 
act of disobedience, which, in fact, it was, since 
both his parents had insisted he should not at- 
tempt it. 

Then his thoughts went out to his father, and he 
told over in his mind all the questions he would 
ask of the doctor at Antelope Spring; for he had no 
doubt but that he should find one of that profession 
there. 

He took little heed to the monotonous view 
around him, until suddenly he saw in the distance 
what appeared to be a low-hanging cloud ; then 
he said to himself that if a shower should spring 
up the sun’s face would be covered, and the heat, 
which was now very great, must be lessened. 

As this cloud advanced, descending to the sands 
while it rose toward the heavens, it grew more 
black; and on either side were long columns of 


A SAND-STORM. 


39 


seeming vapor rising, and as rapidly disappear- 
ing. 

Then across the darkness on that portion of the 
horizon something bright moved swiftly, as if a 
flash of lightning had passed over the face of the 
cloud ; and in an instant the sun and the sky were 
shut out from view. 

Now the clouds took on the appearance of a 
dense black fog, coming up from the southward 
over the desert, until Dick was seemingly looking 
at a gigantic wall, over the face of which shone 
now and then bright flashes of light. 

There was a shrieking and moaning in the air, 
so it seemed to the startled boy; and he failed to 
understand the meaning of this strange scene, until, 
the impenetrable wall having come so near, he 
could see that what appeared like flashes of light 
were gigantic columns of sand springing high in 
the air with fantastic shapes, and glinted by the 
sun from above the apparent vapor, until they were 
swallowed up in the enormous bank of cloud behind 
them. 

Then it was Dick knew the meaning of this ter- 
rible danger which threatened him. 

It was a storm of sand. “ Dancing giants” 
some have termed it, and others speak of it as the 
“ hot blizzard.” 


40 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


As if in an instant the dancing, swirling columns 
and the rushing cloud of sand, which swayed to 
and fro in fantastic movements, surrounded him. 

He was in the centre of a cyclone freighted with 
particles of sand. 

The wind roared until one might have believed 
he heard the crash of thunder. 

Dick halted, terrified, bewildered ; and as he came 
to a standstill, it seemed to him that the clouds on 
every hand lowered until he could see the blue sky 
above. Then with a shriek from the wind the very 
sand beneath his feet rose and fell like billows of 
the sea. 

The tempest was upon him. 

He shielded his eyes with his arm; but the sting- 
ing, heated particles sought out every inch of his 
body, and his clothing afforded but little protection. 

The sand penetrated his ears and mostrils, and 
burned his lips until they bled. 

He had heard it said that to remain motionless 
in such a tempest means death ; for wherever the 
wind meets with an obstruction, there it piles the 
sand in huge mounds, and his father had told of 
more than one hunter who had thus been buried 
alive. 

It was death to remain motionless, and yet to 
move seemed impossible. 


A SAND-STORM. 


41 


Whether he turned to the right or the left the 
whirlwind struck him with a fury which it was 
difficult to withstand. It was as if the wind swept 
in upon him from every point of the compass — 
as if he was the centre of this whirling, dancing, 
blinding, murderous onrush of sand. 

The boy’s throat was dry. He was burning with 
thirst. 

The dust-laden air seemed to have literally filled 
his lungs, and it was with difficulty he could 
breathe. 

Despite the protection he sought to give, his 
eyes were inflamed, and the lids cruelly swollen. 

He sank ankle-deep at every step, and above 
him and around him the wild blasts shrieked, until 
there were times when he feared lest he should be 
thrown from his feet. 

Pulling his hat down over his aching eyes, the 
bewildered, terrified boy tried to gain some relief 
from the thirst which assailed him. 

He understood that the contents of his canteen 
must be guarded jealously; for if he lived there 
were still several miles of the desert journey to be 
traversed, and the walking would be even more 
difficult than before the storm set in, because of 
the shifting sand. 

His distress rendered him reckless; and regard- 


42 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


less of the future, he drank fully half the water in 
the canteen, bathing his eyes with a small quantity 
poured in the hollow of his hand. 

It would have been better if he had not tried to 
find relief by this last method, for the flying parti- 
cles of sand adhered to such portions of his face as 
were wet, forming a coating over the skin almost 
instantly. 

He attempted to brush it off, and the gritty sub- 
stance cut into his flesh as if he had rubbed it with 
emery-paper. 

Then came into Dick’s mind the thought that 
he should never more see his parents on this earth, 
and for the instant his courage so far deserted him 
that he was on the point of flinging himself face 
downward upon the sand. 

Fortunately there appeared before his mental 
vision a picture of his father lying in the wagon 
with the certainty that death would come unless 
his son could bring relief, and this nerved the boy 
to yet greater exertion. 

With his arms over his face, he pushed forward 
once more, not knowing whether he might be retra- 
cing his steps, or proceeding in the proper direction. 

Every inch of advance was made against the 
fierce wind and drifting sand which nearly over- 
threw him. 


A SAND-STORM. 


43 


Every breath he drew was choked with dust. 

How long he thus literally fought against the 
elements it was impossible for him so much as to 
conjecture. 

He knew his strength was spending rapidly; and 
when it seemed as if he could not take another 
step, he stumbled, and fell against a mound of 
sand. 

It had been built by the “ dancing giants ” when 
some obstruction had been found in the path of 
the storm; and as Hick fell prostrate at the foot 
of this slight elevation, there instantly came a 
sense of deepest relief. 

The sand was no longer thrown against him by 
the blast ; the wind had ceased to buffet him ; he 
was in comparative quiet, and for an instant he 
failed to understand the reason. 

Then he realized that this mound, which had 
thrown him from his feet, was affording a shelter 
against the tempest, which was now coming from 
one direction instead of in a circle as heretofore; 
and a fervent prayer of thanksgiving went up from 
his heart, for he believed his life had been saved 
that he might aid his father. 

After recovering in a measure from the exhaus- 
tion consequent upon his battle with the elements, 
he proceeded with infinite care to brush the par- 


44 


DICK IN THE DESERT . 


tides of sand from his face; and this done, his 
relief was yet greater. 

Overhead the air was full of darkness ; the wind 
still screamed as it whirled aloft the spiral columns 
of dust ; the wave-like drift of the sand surged on 
either side ; but for the moment he was safe. 

He had been told that such tempests were of 
hut short duration, and yet it seemed to him as 
if already half a day had been spent in this fight 
for life. 

Then he said to himself that he could remain 
where he was in safety until the wind had sub- 
sided ; but even as the words were formed in his 
mind he was conscious of a weight upon his limbs 
as if something was hearing him down, and for the 
first time he realized that he was being rapidly 
buried alive. 

To remain where he was ten minutes longer 
must be fatal; and perhaps even that length of 
time would not be allowed him, for if the wind so 
shifted as to cut off the top of the mound, then 
he would be overwhelmed as if in a landslide. 

There was nothing for it but to go into the con- 
flict once more ; and in this second effort the odds 
would be still greater against him, because his 
courage was lessened. 

He knew the danger which menaced, and the 


A SAND-STORM. 


45 


suffering he would have to endure the instant he 
rose from behind the poor shelter; yet it was 
necessary, and the boy staggered to his feet. 

There was nothing to guide him in the right 
direction, for all around was blackness and flying 
grit; yet he believed his way lay directly in the 
teeth of the storm, and because of such belief 
pressed onward, resolving that he would continue 
as long as was possible. 

As he said to himself so he did, staggering this 
way and that, but ever pressing forward on the 
course which he believed to be the true one, blinded, 
choking, bewildered by the swirling particles until 
he was dimly conscious of falling, and then he 
knew no more. 

At the moment Dick fell vanquished, hardly 
more than a quarter of a mile distant were two 
men mounted on Indian ponies, and leading three 
burros laden with a miner’s outfit for prospect- 
ing. 

To them the sand-storms of the desert were not 
strange; and with the knowledge born of experi- 
ence they made preparations for “ riding out the 
gale,” when the low, dark cloud first appeared in 
the eastern horizon. 

The animals were fastened with their heads, to- 
gether; the riders bending forward in the saddles, 


46 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


and, as well as it could be accomplished, throwing 
over all the heads a number of blankets. 

The two horsemen had taken the precaution 
while assuming this position to present their backs 
to the wind, and each had tied one end of his 
blanket around his waist in such manner that it 
could not be stripped off by the tempest. 

Two or three blankets were fastened to the heads 
of the animals, and thus the faces of all were pro- 
tected. 

When the sand had whirled around them until 
the animals were buried nearly to their bellies, the 
riders forced the bunch onward ten or fifteen paces, 
continuing to make this change of location at least 
every five minutes during the entire time the tem- 
pest raged ; and thus it was they escaped being 
buried in the downpour of sand. 

From the time the first blast struck Dick, until 
the “ dancing giants ” whirled away to the west- 
ward, leaving the sky unclouded and the yellow 
sands shimmering in the sunlight, no more than 
thirty minutes had passed; yet in that short inter- 
val one human life on which others depended w r ould 
have been sacrificed, unless these two travellers 
who were uninjured should chance to reach that 
exact spot where lay the boy partially covered by 
the desert’s winding-sheet. 


A SAND-STORM. 


47 


“ You can talk of a gale at sea where the sailors 
are half drowned all the time ; but it ain’t a marker 
alongside of these ’ere red-hot blizzards, eh, Par- 
sons ? ” one of the horsemen said as he threw off 
the blanket from his head with a long-drawn sigh 
of relief. 

“ Drownin’ must be mighty pleasant kind of fun 
alongside of chokin’ to death on account of bein’ 
filled plum full with dry sand,” Parsons replied. 
“I allow there ain’t no call for us to stay here 
braggin’ about our Nevada hurricanes, Tom Robin- 
son, more especially since we’ll make less headway 
now the sand has been stirred up a bit.” 

“ There’s nothin’ to hold me here,” Robinson re- 
plied with a laugh. 

Straightway the two men turned their ponies’ 
heads toward the west ; and as they advanced the 
patient burros, laden with a miscellaneous assort- 
ment of goods until little else than their heads and 
tails could be seen, followed steadily in the rear. 

Five minutes after they had resumed their jour- 
ney Parsons cried, as he raised himself in the stir- 
rups, shading his eyes with his hands as he peered 
ahead, — 

“ What’s that ’ere bit of blue out there? Part 
of somebody’s outfit ? or was there a shipwreck close 
at hand ? ” 


48 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


“It’s a man — most likely a tenderfoot, if he 
tried to walk across this ’ere desert.” 

The two halted, and Dick Stevens’s life was saved. 

Had the storm lasted two or three minutes 
longer, or these prospectors gone in any other di- 
rection, he must have died where he had fallen. 

Now he was dragged out from beneath the 
weight of sand, and laid upon a blanket, while the 
men, knowing by experience what should be done 
in such cases, set about restoring the boy to con- 
sciousness. 

Thanks to the timely attention, Dick soon opened 
his eyes, stared around him for an instant in be- 
wilderment, and then exclaimed as he made a vain 
attempt to rise, — 

“ I come pretty near knockin’ under, didn’t I ? 
The last I remember was of failin’.” 

“I allow it was the closest shave you’ll ever 
have agin,” Parsons replied grimly; “an’ I’m free 
to say that them as are sich fools as to cross this 
’ere sand-barren afoot oughter stay on it, like as 
you were in a fair way of doin’ before we come 
along.” 

“ An’ that’s what daddy would say, I s’ pose. 
If he’d known what I was goin’ to do, there would 
have been a stop put to it, even though it was to 
save his life I came. 5 ’ 


A SAND-STORM. 


49 


“ How can you save anybody’s life by cornin’ 
out in sich a tom-fool way as this ? Less than a 
quart of water, and not so much as a blanket with 
which to protect yourself.” 

“I can do it by goin’ to Antelope Spring an’ 
findin’ a doctor,” Dick replied. “You see, daddy 
shot himself in the leg — stove a bone all to pieces ; 
and mother don’t know what to do, so I slid off 
this mornin’ without tellin’ anybody.” 

“Countin’ on footin’ it to Antelope Spring?” 
Parsons asked as if in surprise. 

“Yes; it ain’t more’n forty-five miles the way 
we’ve reckoned it.” 

“Where did you start from?” 

“ Buffalo Meadows.” 

“ And when did you count on makin’ that forty- 
five miles ? ” 

“ I allowed to get there before midnight.” 

“ Where’s your camp ? ” 

“ Well, we haven’t got anything you can rightly 
call a camp ; but we’re located in a prairie schooner 
near by th£ spring in the valley.” 

“ How many in the party ? ” 

“ Daddy, mother, an’ Margie.” 

The two men looked at Dick an instant, and 
then glanced at each other, after which Parsons 
said emphatically, — 


50 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


“ The boy has got grit ; but the old man must 
have been way off to come through this section of 
the country in a wagon.” 

Dick explained how it was they chanced to be 
travelling, and then, eager to gain all the infor- 
mation possible, asked, — 

“ Do you know anything about Antelope Spring ? ” 
“ Nothin’ good. There’s a settlement by that 
name; but it’s a no-account place.” 

“ I s’pose I’ll find a doctor?” 

“I reckon they’ve got somethin’ of the kind 
hangin’ ’round. But are you countin’ on draggin’ 
one down to Buffalo Meadows?” 

“I don’t expect to be so lucky. But mother 
seemed to have the idea that if somebody who 
knew all about it would tell her how to take care 
of daddy’s wound, she’d get along with such stuff 
as I could fetch to help him out in the fever. Say, 
I don’t reckon either of you wants to buy a good 
rifle? There ain’t a better one on Humboldt 
River; ” and as he spoke Dick unslung the weapon 
which hung at his back. 

“ What’s your idea in sellin’ the gun ? It strikes 
me, if you’re countin’ on pullin’ through from Buf- 
falo Meadows to Willow Point, you’ll need it.” 

“ Of course I shall ; but it’s got to go. You see, 
daddy’s dead broke, an’ I must have money to pay 


A SAND-STORM. 


51 


for the doctor’s stuff. I don’t s’pose you want it; 
but if you did, here’s a good chance. If you don’t 
buy I reckon there’ll be some one up to Antelope 
Spring who’ll take it off my hands.” 

“ Haven’t you got anything else you can put up, 
instead of lettin’ the rifle go? In this section of 
the country a tool like that will stand a man good 
agin starvation.” 

“ It’s all I own that’s worth anything, an’ I’ll be 
mighty sorry to lose it; but she’s got to go.” 

Again the men looked at the boy, then at each 
other ; and Parsons motioned for his companion to 
follow him a short distance away, where, to Dick’s 
great surprise, they began an animated conversation. 


52 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


CHAPTER IV. 


AT ANTELOPE SPRING. 



ICK was perplexed by the behavior of 
these two strangers. He failed utterly 
to understand why they should have 
.anything of such a private nature to 
discuss that it was necessary to move aside from 
him; for in a few moments they would be alone 
on the desert, after he had gone his way. 

The discussion, or conversation, whichever it 
may have been, did not occupy many moments ; 
but brief as was the time, Dick had turned to con- 
tinue his journey at the instant when the men 
rejoined him. 

“ What do you allow you ought to get for that 
rifle ? ” Parsons asked abruptly. 

“ That’s what I don’t know. You see, I didn’t 
buy it new, but traded for her before we left 
home. It seems to me she ought to be a bargain 
at — at — ten dollars.” 

“An’ if you get the cash you’re goin’ to blow it 
right in for what the doctor can tell you, an’ sicli 



AT ANTELOPE SPRING. 


53 


stuff as he thinks your old man ought to have 
eh?” 

“ That’s what I’ll do if it costs as much.” 

“ S’posen it don’t ? Allow that you’ve got five 
dollars left, what then ? ” 

“ I’ll buy flour, an’ bacon, an’ somethin’ for 
mother an’ Margie with the balance.” 

“ Do you mean to tell me your father was sich a 
tenderfoot as to come down through this way with- 
out any outfit ? ” Robinson asked sternly. 

“ He had plenty at the time we started ; but you 
see we struck bad luck all the way along, and when 
we pulled into Buffalo Meadows we had cooked the 
last pound of flour. There wasn’t even a bit of 
meat in the camp when he got shot. I knocked 
over a deer last night, an’ that will keep ’em goin’ 
till I get back.” 

“ An’ a kid like you is supportin’ a family, eh ? ” 
Parsons asked in a kindly tone. 

“ I don’t know what kind of a fist I’m goin’ to 
make of it ; but that’s what I’ll try to do till daddy 
gets on his feet again. Say, how long do you 
s’pose it’ll take a man to get well when one leg is 
knocked endways with a bullet plum through the 
bone of it?’” 

“ It’ll be quite a bit, I’m thinkin’ — too long 
for you to stay in Buffalo Meadows at this time 


54 


DICK IN THE DESERT . 


of the year. Two months ought to do it, eh, Par- 
sons ? ” 

“Well, yes; he won’t get ’round any quicker 
than that.” 

“ I don’t know as it makes much difference if he 
can’t walk a great deal, ’cause after the horses have 
had plenty of grass for a couple of weeks we’ll pull 
across this place; an’ once on the other side I 
' sha’n’t worry but what I can take ’em through all 
right.” 

“ Look here, my son,” Robinson said, as he laid his 
hand on the lad’s shoulder. “ You’ve got plenty of 
sand, that’s a fact. I allow there ain’t a kid within 
a thousand miles of here that would tackle the con- 
tract you’ve taken this mornin’. If we wasn’t bound 
to the Winnemucca Range, an it wasn’t quite so 
late in the season, we’d help you out by goin’ down 
to camp an’ straightenin’ things a bit ; but it can’t 
be done now. W e’ll buy your rifle though, an’ that’s 
what we’ve agreed on. Ten dollars ain’t sich a big 
pile for the gun; but yet it’s plenty enough— least- 
ways, it’s all we can afford to put out just now.” 

“ I’ll be mighty glad to sell it for that if you 
need a rifle; an’ it’ll be better to make the trade 
now than wait till I get into Antelope Spring, 
’cause there’s no dead certainty I’ll find anybody 
there who’ll buy it.” 


AT ANTELOPE SPRING. 


55 


Parsons took from a buckskin bag a small roll 
of bills, and when he had counted out ten dollars 
there was but little of the original amount remain- 
ing. 

He handed the money to Dick ; and the latter, af- 
ter the briefest hesitation, held the rifle toward him. 

“ Sorry to give it up, eh ? ” Robinson asked. 

“Well, I ain’t when it comes to gettin’ the money 
for daddy; if it wasn’t for that I’d be. You see, 
it’s the first one I ever owned, an’ the way things 
look now, it’ll be a good while before I get an- 
other.” 

“ I’ll tell you how we’ll fix it, son. My partner 
an’ I ain’t needin’ an extra rifle just now ; an’ more 
than as likely as not — in fact, I may say it’s certain 
— we’ll be up ’round your way before the winter 
fairly sets in. Now, if you could keep it for us till 
then, it would be the biggest kind of a favor, ’cause 
you see we’re prospectin’, an’ have got about all 
the load the burros can tackle.” 

“You’re — you’re — sure you want to buy this 
gun, eh?” 

“Well, if we wasn’t, there wouldn’t have been 
much sense in makin’ the talk.” 

“ But if you’re prospectors, there isn’t any show 
of your gettin’ ’round to Willow Point.” 

“ Oh, we drift up an’ down, here an’ there, just 


56 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


as the case may be. There ain’t any question about 
our trailin’ all over the State in time, and you shall 
keep the rifle in good shape till we call for it. So 
long, my son. It’s time for you to be hoofin’ it, 
if you count on gettin’ to Antelope Spring this side 
of to-morrow mornin’.” 

As he spoke, Parsons mounted his pony, Robin- 
son following the example ; and in another moment 
the two were on their way once more, leaving Dick 
in a painful state of uncertainty regarding their pur- 
pose in purchasing the gun. 

During two or three minutes the boy stood where 
they had left him, and then cried, — 

“ Hello there ! Hold on a minute, will you ? ” 

“ What’s the matter now?” and Parsons looked 
over his shoulder, but neither he nor his partner 
reined in their steeds. 

“Are you buyin’ this rifle? or are you makin’ 
believe so’s to give me the ten dollars?” 

“S’posen we was makin’ believe?” 

“Why then I wouldn’t take the money, ’cause 
I ain’t out begging.” 

“ Don’t fret yourself, my son. We’ve bought 
the gun all right ; an’ the next time we meet, you 
can hand it over. I wish our pile had been bigger 
so’s we could have given twenty, ’cause a kid like 
you deserves it.” 


AT ANTELOPE SPRING. 


57 


The horsemen continued on, and by this time 
were so far away that Dick would have been un- 
wise had he attempted to overtake them. 

He stood irresolutely an instant as if doubtful of 
the genuineness of this alleged business transaction. 

It was as if the men feared he might attempt to 
overtake them ; for despite the heavy loads on the 
burros they urged the beasts forward at their best 
pace, and Dick was still revolving the matter in his 
mind when they were a mile or more away. 

“ Well, it’s no use for me to stand here try in’ to 
figure out whether they’ve given me this money or 
really mean to buy the rifle, for I’ve got to strike 
Antelope Spring between this time an’ midnight. 
Now that there are ten dollars in my pocket, I’ll 
he a pretty poor stick if I don’t do it; but the 
sand-storm came mighty near windin’ me up. It 
was the toughest thing I ever saw.” 

Then Dick set forward once more, toiling over 
the loose surface into which his feet sank three or 
four inches at every step ; and when he finally stood 
on the firm soil east of this waste of shifting sand, 
it was two hours past noon. 

As he had reckoned, there were more than thirty 
miles yet to be traversed ; but the distance troubled 
him little. 

He had in his possession that which would buy 


58 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


such knowledge and such drugs as his father might 
need, and he believed it would be almost a sin to 
rebel even in his thoughts against the labor which 
must be performed. 

Now he advanced, whistling cheerily, with a 
long stride and a swinging gait that should have 
carried him over the trail at the rate of four miles 
an hour ; and not until late in the afternoon did he 
permit himself to halt, and partake of the broiled 
venison. 

Then he ate every morsel, and, the meal finished, 
said aloud with a low laugh of perfect content : — 

"It’s lucky I didn’t bring any more; for I should 
eat it to a dead certainty, an’ then I wouldn’t be 
in as good trim for walkin’. Daddy always says 
that the less a fellow has in his stomach the easier 
he can get over the ground, and the poor old man 
never struck it truer.” 

After this halt of fifteen minutes Dick pressed 
forward without more delay until he came upon 
the settlement, at what time he knew not, but 
to the best of his belief it was hardly more than 
an hour past midnight. 

There was no thought in his mind of spending 
any portion of the money for a bed. 

The earth offered such a resting-place as satis- 
fied him ; and since the day his father departed from 


AT ANTELOPE SPRING. 


59 


Willow Point in the hope of finding a location 
where he could earn a livelihood with but little 
labor, Dick had more often slept upon the ground 
than elsewhere. 

Now he threw himself down by the side of a 
storehouse, or shed, where he would be protected 
from the night wind ; and there was hardly more 
than time to compose himself for rest before his 
eyes were closed in slumber. 

No person in Antelope Spring was awake at an 
earlier hour next morning than Dick Stevens ; for 
the sun had not yet shown himself when the boy 
arose to his feet, and looked around as if to say that 
he was in fine condition. 

“A tramp of forty-five miles ain’t to be sneezed 
at, an’ when you throw in fifteen miles of desert 
an’ a sand-storm to boot, it’s what I call a pretty 
good day’s work ; yet I’m feelin’ fine as a fiddle,” he 
said in a tone of satisfaction, after which he made 
an apology for a toilet at the stream near-by. 

Dick had no idea in which direction a physician 
might be found ; therefore he halted in front of the 
first store he saw to wait until the proprietor came, 
half an hour later, to attend to customers. 

It was such a shop as one would naturally ex- 
pect to find in a settlement among the mountains 
of Nevada. 


60 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


From molasses to perfumery, and from ploughs 
to fish-hooks, the assortment ran, until one would 
say all his wants might be supplied from the stock. 

Cheese was what Dick had decided upon for his 
morning meal; and after purchasing two pounds, 
together with such an amount of crackers as he 
thought would be necessary, he set about eating 
breakfast at the same time that he gained the 
desired information. 

“ I’ve come from the other side of Smoke Creek 
Desert,” he began, speaking indistinctly because 
of the fulness of his mouth, “ an’ want to find a 
doctor. 5 ’ 

“ Ain’t sick, are yer?” the shopkeeper asked 
with mild curiosity. 

“ Daddy shot himself in the leg, an’ mother 
don’t know what to do for him ; so I’ve come up 
to hire a doctor to tell me, an’ buy whatever he 
says is needed.” 

“A kid like you come across the desert ! Where’s 
your pony ? ” 

“1 haven’t got any. Daddy’s horses are so 
nearly played out that they’ve got to be left to 
grass two or three weeks, if we count on doin’ any- 
thing with ’em.” 

“ Did you walk across?” the shopkeeper asked 
incredulously. 


AT ANTELOPE SPRING. 


61 


“ That’s what I did ; ” and Dick told of his suf- 
ferings during the sand-storm, not in a boastful 
way, but as if it were his purpose to give the pros- 
pectors the praise they deserved. 

When he had concluded, the proprietor plunged 
his hands deep in his pockets, surveyed the boy 
from head to foot much as Parsons and Robinson 
had, saying not a word until Dick’s face reddened 
under the close scrutiny, when he exclaimed, — 

“ Well, I’ll be jiggered ! A kid of your size — 
say, how old are you, bub?” 

“ Thirteen.” 

“ Well, a baby of thirteen lightin’ out’ across 
Smoke Creek Desert, an’ all for the sake of helpin’ 
your dad, eh? Do you reckon you can bite out 
of Dr. Man ter ’s ear all you want to know, an’ then 
go back an’ run the business ? ” 

“ It seems as if he ought to tell me what mother 
needs to do, an’ I can remember every word. Then 
she said there would have to be some medicine to 
stop the fever ; an’ that’s what I’m countin’ on 
buyin’, if he gives me the name of it.” 

“ When are you goin’ back?” 

“ I’m in hopes to get away this noon, an’ then 
I’ll be in camp by to-morrow mornin’.” 

“ Say, sonny, do you want to stuff me with the 
yarn that you’ve travelled forty-five miles in less’n 


62 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


thirty-six hours, an’ count on doin’ the same thing 
right over agin, which is ninety miles in less’n 
three days?” 

.“ I’ve done the first half of the journey, an’ it 
couldn’t have been more’n two hours past mid- 
night when I got here. With such a lay-out as 
this for breakfast I’ll be in good shape for goin’ 
back ; an’ it would be a mighty poor boy who 
couldn’t get there between this noon an’ to-morrow 
mornin’, ’cause I’ll go across the desert after dark, 
an’ it ain’t likely there’ll be another sand-storm.” 

“Well, look here, sonny, stand right there for 
a minute, will you, while I go out ? I won’t be 
gone a great while, an’ you can finish up your 
breakfast.” 

“But I want to see the doctor as soon as I can, 
you know.” 

“ That’ll be all right. I’ll make it in my way to 
help you along so you sha’n’t be kept in this town 
a single hour more’n ’s necessary.” 

Having said this, and without waiting to learn 
whether his young and early customer was willing 
to do as he had requested, the proprietor of the 
store hurriedly left the building, and Dick had 
finished his meal before he returned. 

The boy was stowing the remainder of the cheese 
and crackers into his pockets when the shopkeeper, 


AT ANTELOPE SPRING. 


63 


accompanied by two men, who looked as if they 
might have been hunters or miners, entered. 

“Is this the kid?” one of the strangers asked, 
looking as curiously at the boy as had the pro- 
prietor. 

“ That’s the one; an’ the yarn he tells must be 
pretty nigh true, ’cause he met Parsons an’ Kobin- 
son, an’ accordin’ to his story they bought his rifle, 
leavin’ it with him till such time as they want to 
claim it.” 

The newcomers questioned Dick so closely re- 
garding the journey and its purpose that he 
began to fear something was wrong, and asked 
nervously, — 

“What’s the reason I shouldn’t have come up 
here ? When a feller’s father is goin’ to die if he 
can’t get a doctor afoul of him, it’s a case of hustlin’ 
right sharp.” 

“An’ accordin’ to the account you’ve given, 
that’s about what you’ve been doin’,” one of the 
strangers said with an approving nod, which re- 
assured the boy to such an extent that he answered 
without hesitation the further questions which 
were asked. 

When the curiosity of the men had been satisfied, 
one of those whom the landlord had brought in, 
and who was addressed by his companions as “Bob 


64 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


Mason/’ said to Dick, as he laid his hand on the 
boy’s shoulder, — 

“ We’ll take care of you, my bold kid, an’ see 
that you get all your father needs. If it wasn’t 
that the doctor in this ’ere town is worked mighty 
hard, I’d make it my business to send him right 
down to your camp. But I reckon, if it’s nothin’ 
more’n a bullet through your dad’s leg, he’ll pull 
’round all right with sicli things as you can carry 
from here. Now come on, an’ we’ll find out what 
the pill-master thinks of the case.” 

Dick was thoroughly surprised that so much 
interest in his affairs should be manifested by 
strangers, and it pleased him that he was to have 
assistance in this search for medical knowledge. 

He followed this new friend readily, and in a few 
moments was standing before the doctor, listen- 
ing to Mr. Mason’s highly colored version of the 
journey. 

When he would have corrected the gentleman as 
to some of the points which had been exaggerated, 
he was kindly bade to “hold his tongue.” 

“I’ve heard all your yarn, my boy, an’ can ima- 
gine a good many things you didn’t tell. There’s 
precious few of us in this section of the country 
that was ever overtook, while on foot, by the 
dancin’ giants, an’ lived to tell the story.” 


AT ANTELOPE SPRING. 


65 


“ I wouldn't be alive if it hadn’t been for Mr. 
Parsons an’ Mr. Robinson.” 

“ What they did don’t cut any figger. It’s what 
you went through with that I’m talkin’ about, an’ 
the doctor is bound to hear the whole story before 
he gives up what he knows.” 

Not until Mr. Mason had concluded the recital 
after his own fashion did he give the professional 
gentleman an opportunity to impart the informa- 
tion which Dick had worked so hard to obtain; 
and then the physician, after telling him in a 
general way how the patient should be treated, 
wrote out in detail instructions for Mrs. Stevens 
to follow. 

Then from his store of drugs, pills, and nauseous 
potions he selected such as might be needed in the 
case, writing on each package full directions, at the 
expense of at least an hour’s time; and when he 
had finished, Dick believed that his father would 
suffer for nothing in the way of medicine. 

“ There, lad,” Dr. Manter said as he concluded 
his labors, and tied in the smallest possible compass 
the articles he had set out, “ I allow your mother 
should be able to do all that is necessary ; and unless 
the bone is so shattered that the leg must be ampu- 
tated, it is possible you will get along as well with- 
out a physician as with one.” 


66 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


“Do you mean there’s a chance my poor old 
man might have to let his leg be cut off?” 

“ If you have described the wound correctly, I 
should say there was every danger. I have written, 
however, to your mother, so that she may be able 
to decide if anything of the kind is probable, and 
then you may be obliged to make another journey 
up here. At all events, if your father’s life should 
be in danger, you may depend upon it I will come 
to the camp ; although I am free to admit that a 
ride across Smoke Creek Desert isn’t one that I 
hanker for, although you seem to have made the 
journey on foot and thought little of it.” 

“ That’s ’cause I was doin’ it on daddy’s account. 
How much is your price for this stuff? ” 

Mr. Mason instantly plunged his hand in his 
pocket ; and before he could withdraw it the physi- 
cian replied, — 

“ You have earned all I’ve given you, lad; and 
I’d be ashamed to take even a dollar from a plucky 
little shaver like you.” 

“ But I’ve got ten dollars, an’ can pay my way. 
If I’d thought the prospectors meant to give me 
the money instead of buyin’ the rifle, I’d got along 
without it ; but they said twice over that they 
wanted the gun, an’ I believed ’em.” 

“ No one can accuse you of being a beggar; but 


AT ANTELOPE SPRING. 


67 


if it’s the same to you, I’d rather let this go on 
account, and some day perhaps, when you’ve 
struck it rich, come around and we’ll have a 
settlement.” 

“ Doctor, you’re a man, every inch of you ! ” Mr. 
Mason said in a loud tone, as he slapped the phy- 
sician on the shoulder with a force that caused him 
to wince with absolute pain. “ You’re a man; an’ 
if the people in this town don’t know it already, 
they shall find it out from yours truly. I reckon 
we can ante up a little something in this ’ere 
matter, so the kid won’t go home empty-handed; 
for I tell you there’s nothin’ in Antelope Spring 
too good for him.” 

Again Dick looked about him in surprise that 
such praise should be bestowed for what seemed 
to him a very simple act. The kindly manner in 
which the physician bade him good-by, with the 
assurance that he would himself go to Buffalo 
Meadows if it should become necessary, served to 
increase the boy’s astonishment; and instead of 
thanking the gentleman, he could only say, be- 
cause of his bewilderment, — 

“ I did it for daddy, sir ; an’ it would be a mean 
kind of fellow who wouldn’t do as much.” 

Then Mr. Mason hurried him away, and despite 
Dick’s protests insisted on leading him from one 


68 


DICK IK THE DESERT. 


place to another, until it was as if he had been in- 
troduced to every citizen in the settlement. 

He was not called upon to tell his story again, 
because his conductor did that for him; and the 
details of the narrative were magnified with each 
repetition, until Dick believed it absolutely neces- 
sary he should contradict certain portions wherein 
he was depicted as a hero of the first class. 

When Mr. Mason had shown the boy fully around 
the town, he said by way of parting, — 

“ Now you go down to Mansfield’s, an’ wait 
there till I come.” 

“ Where’s Mansfield’s ? ” 

“ That’s the store where I found you.” 

“But I can’t wait a great while, Mr. Mason. 
You know I’ve got to be back by to-morrow morn- 
in’ ; an’ I ought to be leavin’ now, ’cause it’s pretty 
near noon.” 

“ Don’t worry your head about that, my .son. 
You shall get to camp before sunrise to-morrow 
mornin’, an’ without so very much work on your 
part, either. Now go down to Mansfield’s, an’ wait 
there till I come. Mind you don’t leave this town 
till I’m back there.” 

Mr. Mason hurried away as he ceased speaking ; 
and Dick walked slowly down the street, debating 
in his mind whether he must obey this order. 


DICK “ PULLS THROUGH. ” 


69 


CHAPTER Y. 


DICK “ PULLS THROUGH. 



ilHEN Dick had retraced his steps to Mans- 
field’s he found no less than ten of the 
citizens there, several of whom he had 
already met ; and all were evidently 
eager to talk with the boy who had walked across 
Smoke Creek Desert. 

There were but few in that section of the coun- 
try who would have dared to make the venture, 
although it was by no means a dangerous or diffi- 
culty journey for a horseman ; and Dick’s bravery, 
in connection with all the circumstances, pleased 
the citizens of Antelope Spring wonderfully well. 

The package Dick carried told that he had been 
successful in finding a physician, and Mr. Mansfield 
was curious to learn how much the medical gentle- 
man had charged for his services. 

“He wouldn’t take a cent,” Dick said in reply to 
the question. “ It seems to me the folks in this 
town are mighty good.” 

“ I don’t reckon we’ll ever be hung for our good- 


70 DICK IN THE DESERT. 

ness,” the proprietor of the shop said with a grin ; 
“ but it is considerable of a treat to see a kid with 
so much sand as you’ve shown. Dr. Man ter knew 
which side his bread was buttered on when he 
wouldn’t take your money ; an’ if your father don’t 
get better with what you’re takin’ to him, you can 
count on Manter seein’ the thing through. You’ve 
got quite a load, my son.” 

“ Yes; an’ I’m countin’ on carryin’ more, if you’ll 
take money for what I buy. I don’t want to set 
myself up for a beggar, ’cause I’ve got the stuff to 
pay for everything.” 

“ What do you want ? ” 

“ About ten pounds of flour, and the same weight 
in bacon or salt pork, with a little pepper and salt, 
will be as much as I can carry.” 

"It’s a good deal more’n I’d want to tote forty- 
five miles ’twixt now and sunset,” one of the visi- 
tors remarked ; and Dick replied cheerily, — 

“It wouldn’t seem very heavy if you was car- 
ryin’ it to your folks who’d had nothin’ but fresh 
meat to eat for the last month. Mother and Margie 
will be wild when I bring in that much.” 

“ I’ll put up twenty-five pounds in all, for I reckon 
there are other things that would come handy,” 
Mr. Mansfield said as he began to weigh out the 
articles, and Dick asked quickly, — 


DICK “ PULLS THROUGH. ” 


71 


“ You’re to let me pay for ’em ? ” 

“ Sure,” the proprietor replied as he winked at 
the loungers. “You shall give all the stuff is 
worth.” 

“I didn’t want to hang ’round here very long; 
but Mr. Mason said I was to wait for him.” 

“If Bob Mason give sich orders it’ll be worth 
your while to stop a spell; for he’s as cross- 
grained as a broncho when matters don’t go to 
his likin’, an’ might make trouble for you.” 

Dick was considerably disturbed by this remark, 
which had much the sound of a threat, and looked 
out of the door uneasily. 

The citizens had been exceedingly kind to him; 
but he had had no little experience with inhabi- 
tants of frontier towns, and knew that friendship 
might be changed to enmity very suddenly. 

The shopkeeper had not finished filling the small 
order when Bob Mason rode up on a wiry-looking 
broncho, and after tying the beast to a hitching- 
post, entered the store. 

“I had an idea that was what you were up to,” 
one of the loungers said ; and Mason replied with 
a laugh, — 

“When we have sich a visitor as this ’ere kid, I 
reckon we’re called on to make things pleasant for 
him.” Then turning to Dick he added, “If it so 


72 


DICK IN THE DESERT . 


be your daddy pulls through all right for the next 
week or ten days, he should be in condition to ride 
this far?” 

“ After the horses have rested a little- 1 counted 
on starting for Willow Point.” 

“It strikes me that would be too rough a journey 
for the old man at this time of the year. We’re 
needin’ kids like you in this town, an’ I allow 
you’ll find a shelter here till spring. Then, if the 
settlement don’t suit you, it’ll be only a case of 
goin’ on when the tra veilin’ is easier.” 

“ Do you mean that we’d better live here ? ” 
Dick asked in surprise. 

“ That’s the way some of us have figgered it.” 

“ Can I find work enough to pay our way ? You 
see, daddy won’t be in shape to do anything for 
quite a spell.” 

“ I’ll give you a job on my ranch, an’ pay fair 
wages.” 

“ Then we’ll be glad to stop.” 

“All right, my son. You shall take your own 
time about cornin’, and I’ll hold the job open till 
you get here. Now I’m allowin’ to lend you that 
broncho, so you can get back in case the old man 
grows worse. He’s a tricky beast; but I reckon 
you’ll handle him without any too much trouble. 
The only drawback is that I can’t furnish a saddle.” 


DICK “ PULLS THROUGH . ” 


73 


“ If you can spare the pony, I’ll get along with- 
out the fixings,” Dick replied, his eyes gleaming 
with delight; for with such a steed he would be 
able to visit the town at short notice, if it should 
become necessary. 

“ I’m allowin’ that I’ve got a saddle he can have 
for a spell,” Mr. Mansfield replied thoughtfully; 
and although Dick insisted that there was really 
no need of one, it was brought out. 

The loungers took it upon themselves to see that 
the broncho was properly harnessed ; and now that 
it was no longer necessary to limit the weight of 
the supplies, the shopkeeper suggested that the 
amount of flour and bacon be doubled. 

“ Will ten dollars be enough to pay for it ? ” 
Dick asked. 

“ We’ll make a charge of it, seein’s you’re goin’ 
to work for Bob Mason. You can give me an 
order on him after you’ve been here a spell, an’ 
it’ll be the same thing as cash.” 

“ Now you’re doin’ the square thing, Mansfield,” 
Mason said approvingly ; and despite Dick’s pro- 
tests that he preferred to pay his way so long as 
he had the money, the matter was thus arranged. 

“You are sure I can earn enough to pay for 
what we’ll need to eat between now and spring ? ” 
the boy asked doubtfully. 


74 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


u I’m allowin’, from what I’ve seen, that you’ll 
earn a man’s wages, an’ that’ll be thirty dollars a 
month. If your father is anything like you, I’ll 
guarantee he can find work enough to support the 
family ; an’ Antelope Spring is needin’ settlers 
mighty bad.” 

The supply of provisions and the medicines were 
packed in a bag, divided into two portions of equal 
weight that they might be carried over the saddle, 
and then Dick was ready to mount. 

He realized fully how kind the people of the 
town had been to him, and was eager to say that 
which should give token of the gratitude in his 
heart ; but the words refused to come at his 
bidding. 

He stammered in the attempt to speak, cleared 
his throat nervously, and tried again, — 

“ You’ve been mighty good, all hands, an’ I’m 
thinkin’ it’ll help daddy pull through. I wish — 
I wish ” — 

“ That’s all right, my son,” Bob Mason inter- 
rupted. “ We’ve got a good idea of what you 
want to say, an’ you can let it go at that. As 
a general thing we don’t get stuck on kids; but 
when one flashes up in the style you have, we 
cotton to him mightily. You can push that ’ere 
broncho right along, for forty-five miles ain’t any 


DICK “ PULLS THROUGH. 


75 


terrible big job for him, an’ canter into camp this 
side of midnight with considerable time to spare.” 

“I thank you all, an’ so will mother an’ daddy 
when they get here,” he said in a husky tone, as 
he mounted; and then waving his cap by way of 
adieu, he rode away, the happiest boy to be found 
on either side of the Rocky Mountains. 

Night had not fully come when he halted at the 
eastern edge of the desert to give the broncho 
water and grass; and here he remained an hour, 
the crackers and cheese left from breakfast afford- 
ing an appetizing supper to a lad who had known 
but little variation in his bill of fare from fresh 
meat, broiled or stewed, more often without salt or 
pepper. 

The stars guided him on the course across the 
waste of sand, and the pony made his way over 
tlie yielding surface at a pace which surprised the 
rider. 

“ He can walk four miles an hour, according to 
this showing, and I should be in camp before ten 
o’clock.” 

In this he was not mistaken. The broncho 
pushed ahead rapidly, proving that he had trav- 
ersed deserts before, and was eager to complete the 
journey; and when Dick came within sight of 
the wagon, his mother was standing in front of 


76 


DICK IN TIIE DESERT 


the camp-fire, so intent on broiling a slice of veni- 
son that she was ignorant of his coming until he 
shouted cheerily, — 

“ Here I am, mother dear, coming along with 
a good bit of style, and so many fine things that 
you’ll open your eyes mighty wide when this bag 
is emptied. How is my poor old man ?” 

He had dismounted as he ceased speaking, and 
was instantly clasped in his mother’s arms. 

“ 0 Dick, Dick, how sore my heart has been ! 
Your father said you could not get across the desert 
on foot, and I have pictured you lying on the sands 
dying.” 

“ You’ve made your pictures all wrong, dearie ; 
for here I am in prime condition, and loaded down 
with good things. The people up at Antelope 
Spring have shown themselves to be mighty gen- 
erous. How is daddy?” 

“ He is resting comfortably just now, although 
he has suffered considerable pain. Did you see a 
doctor?” 

“Yes; an’ am loaded way up to the muzzle with 
directions as to what must be done. Let’s go in 
and see the poor old man, an’ then I’ll tell you 
both the story.” 

Mr. Stevens’s voice was heard from the inside of 
the wagon as he spoke Dick’s name; Margie clam- 


DICK “ PULLS THROUGH . ” 


77 


bered out, her big brown eyes heavy with slumber, 
to greet her brother, and the boy was forced to 
receive her caresses before it was possible to care 
for the broncho. 

Then, as soon as might be, Dick entered the 
wagon, and the hand-clasp from his father was 
sufficient reward for all his sufferings in the desert. 

It was midnight before he finished telling of 
his journey, and reception by the men of Antelope 
Spring. 

He would have kept secret the peril which came 
to him with the sand-storm; but his father ques- 
tioned him so closely that it became necessary to 
go into all the details, and more than once before 
the tale was concluded did his mother press him 
lovingly to her as she wiped the tears from her 
eyes. 

“You mustn’t cry now it is all over,” he said 
with a smile, as he returned the warm pressure of 
her hand. “I’m none the worse for havin’ been 
half buried, an’ we’re rich. I’m countin’ on pullin’ 
out of here as soon as the horses are in condition ; 
an’ we’ll stay at the town till spring — perhaps, 
longer.” 

Although he claimed that he was not hungry,, 
his mother insisted on preparing supper from the 
seemingly ample store of provisions; and when the 


78 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


meal had been eaten it was so nearly morning that 
Dick would have dispensed with the formality of 
going to bed, but that his mother declared it was 
necessary he should gain some rest. 

His heart was filled with thankfulness when he 
lay down under the wagon again, covered with a 
blanket; and perhaps for the first time in his life 
Dick did more than repeat the prayer his mother 
taught him, for he whispered very softly, — 

“ You’ve been mighty good to me, God, an’ I 
hope you’re goin’ to let my poor old man have 
another whack at livin’.” 

Dick had repeated to his mother, all the instruc- 
tions given him by the physician, and before he 
was awake next morning Mrs. Stevens set about 
dressing the wound in a more thorough manner 
than had ever been possible before. 

She was yet engaged in this task when the boy 
opened his eyes, and learning to his surprise that 
the day was at least an hour old, sprang to his feet 
like one who has been guilty of an indiscretion. 

“What! up already?” he cried in surprise, as 
looking through the flap of the wagon-covering, he 
saw what his mother was doing. 

“ Yes, Dick dear, and I have good news for you. 
Both your father and I now think he was mistaken 
in believing the bone was shattered by the bullet. 


DICK “PULLS THROUGH .” 


79 


Perhaps it is splintered some, but nothing more 
serious.” 

“ Then you won’t be obliged to have it cut off, 
daddy, an’ should be able to get round right soon.” 

“ There’s this much certain, Dick, whether the 
bone is injured or not, my life has been saved 
through your efforts ; for I know enough about 
gun-shot wounds to understand that I couldn’t 
have pulled through without something more than 
we were able to get here.” 

“ Yet you would have prevented me from leaving 
if I had told you what was in my mind.” 

“ I should for a fact ; because if one of us two 
must go under, it would be best for mother an’ 
Margie that I was that one.” 

“ Why, daddy ! you have no right to talk like 
that ! ” 

“It’s true, Dick. I’ve been a sort of ne’er-do- 
well, otherwise I wouldn’t have been called Roving 
Dick, while you are really the head of the house.” 

“I won’t listen to such talk, daddy; for it sounds 
as if you were out of your head again, as when we 
were alone that night. You’ll perk up after we’re 
at Antelope Spring, an’ show the people there what 
you can do.” 

“ I shall be obliged to work very hard in order 
to make a good showing by the side of you.” 


80 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


Dick hurried away, for it pained him to hear his 
father talk in such fashion ; yet at the same time he 
hoped most fervently that there would be no more 
roaming in search of a place where the least possi- 
ble amount of labor was necessary, and it really 
seemed as if “ Roving Dick v had made up his 
mind to lead a different life. 

There was little opportunity for the boy to re- 
main idle. 

The supplies he had brought from Mr. Mans- 
field’s shop would not suffice to provide the family 
with food many days unless it was re-enforced by 
fresh meat ; and as soon as Dick had seen to it that 
the horses and the broncho were safe, he made 
preparations for a hunting-trip. 

When breakfast had been eaten, and how deli- 
cious was the taste of bacon and flour-bread to this 
little party, which had been deprived of such food 
so long, he started off, returning at night-fall with 
a small deer and half a dozen rabbits. 

The greater portion of the venison he cut up 
ready for smoking; and when his mother asked 
why he w T as planning so much labor for himself, he 
replied cheerily, — 

“ We’re likely to lay here ten days at the very 
least, for the horses won’t be in condition to travel 
in much less time ; and now is my chance to put in 


DICK “PULLS THROUGH.”. 


81 


a stock of provisions for the winter. It never’ 11 
do to spend all my wages for food ; because you 
and Margie are to be fitted out in proper shape, 
and now I haven’t even the rifle to sell, for that 
belongs to the prospectors.” 

Not an idle hour did Dick Stevens spend during 
the time they remained encamped at Buffalo Mead- 
ows; and when the time came that his father be- 
lieved they might safely begin the journey to 
Antelope Spring, he had such a supply of smoked 
meat as would keep the family in food many 
days. 

Mr. Stevens’s wound had healed with reasonable 
rapidity, thanks to the materials for its dressing 
which Dick had risked his life to procure ; and on 
the morning they decided to cross the desert the 
invalid was able to take his place on the front 
seat of the wagon to play the }3art of driver. 

Dick rode the broncho, as a matter of course; 
and to him this journey was most enjoyable. 

Not until the second day did the family arrive 
at their destination, and Dick received such a recep- 
tion as caused his cheeks to redden with joy. 

Bob Mason chanced to be in front of Mansfield’s 
store when the party rode up, and insisted on their 
remaining there until he could summon the inhabi- 
tants of the settlement to give them welcome. 


82 


DICK IN THE DESERT . 


“ We’re glad you’ve come,” Mr. Mason said when 
he believed the time had come for him to make a 
speech. “ We’ve seen the kid, an’ know how much 
sand he’s got ; so if the rest of the family are any- 
thing like him, and I reckon they must be, we’re 
gettin’ the kind of citizens we hanker after. I’ve 
pre-empted the boy, an’ allow he’ll look out for 
things on the ranch as well as any man I could 
hire, an’ a good deal better’ll the average run. 
We’ve got a house here for the rest of you, an’ 
Stevens will find plenty of work if he’s handy with 
tools. Now then, kid, we’ll get the old folks 
settled, an’ after that I’ll yank you off with 
me.” 

Mason led the way to a rude shanty of boards, 
which was neither the best nor the worst dwelling 
in the town ; and to Mrs. Stevens and Margie it 
seemed much like a palace, for it was a place they 
could call home, a pleasure they had not enjoyed 
since leaving Willow Point two years ago. 

Dick observed with satisfaction that there was a 
sufficient amount of furniture in the shanty to 
serve his parents until money could be earned with 
which to purchase more; and then he rode away 
with Bob Mason, leading the team-horses to that 
gentleman’s corral. 

He had brought his family to a home, and had 


DICK “ PULLS THROUGH 


83 


before him a good prospect of supplying them with 
food, even though his father should not be able to 
do any work until the coming spring; therefore 
Dick Stevens was a very happy boy. 

Here we will leave him ; for he is yet in Mason’s 
employ, and it is said in Antelope Spring to-day, 
or was a few months ago, that when “ Bob Mason 
hired that kid to oversee his ranch, he knew what 
he was about.” 

It is hard to believe that a boy only fifteen years 
of age (for Dick has noiv been an overseer, or “ boss 
puncher” as it is termed in Nevada, nearly two 
years) could care for a ranch of six hundred acres; 
yet he has done it, as more than one can testify, 
and in such a satisfactory manner that next year 
he is to have an interest in the herds and flocks on 
the “ Mason Place.” 

Mr. Stevens recovered from the wound in due 
time ; and early in the spring after his arrival at 
the settlement, he joined Messrs. Parsons & Rob- 
inson in prospecting among the ranges. 

His good fortune was even greater than Dick’s; 
for before the winter came again the firm had 
struck a rich lead of silver, which has been worked 
with such profit that “ Roving Dick’s ” home is 
one of the best and the cosiest to be found in the 
State. 


S4 


DICK IN THE DESERT. 


Mr. Stevens would have been glad had young 
Dick decided to give up his work on the ranch ; but 
the latter has declared again and again that he 
will leave mining strictly alone, because “ cattle 
are good enough for him.” 


THE END. 






















































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